


Waiting for the Sun

by Snowfilly1



Series: Seems Like A Long Time [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Beaches, Crowley Has Self-Esteem Issues (Good Omens), Insecure Crowley (Good Omens), Kissing, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:56:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25996369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowfilly1/pseuds/Snowfilly1
Summary: "Crowley ends up hissing in an attempt to reply quicker than he can work his jaw muscles, assurances spilling faster than he can pronounce them. He's never been surer about anything than about loving Aziraphale and wanting to be loved back by him.Somehow, the angel must understand some of it, because he reaches out and pushes some of Crowley's hair back behind his ear and says 'a bit fast, eh?' “Despite the kissing, despite hearing 'I love you,' despite wanting it, Crowley's struggling to accept yesterday's sudden change in their relationship. Another walk on another beach together and another conversation.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Seems Like A Long Time [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1886791
Comments: 30
Kudos: 119
Collections: Week 25: Seaside Getaway





	Waiting for the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct sequel to 'Seems Like a Long Time,' (although before the flash forward last paragraph of it) but if you haven't read it, all you need to know is that Crowley fell asleep on a beach, sleepily confessed his love to Aziraphale and then there was kissing. This starts the next morning.

Crowley wakes up in a tangle of limbs on a settee he doesn't immediately recognise. There's a moment where all he's aware of is sensation - the prickly pins and needles where he's lying on his arm, the softness of the cushion against his back where his shirt's ridden up and the heaviness of a hand curled around his scalp - before the last part of that sinks into his brain. 

Aziraphale. 

He's woken up with his head practically in Aziraphale's lap, and the angel's hand resting on his hair. 

He manages a few choked off noises that, even to his ears, don't sound much like a coherent apology and goes to move away. 

'There you are, dearest,' and Aziraphale's voice is impossibly soft, impossibly kind. 'Sleep well?'

Mutely, he jerks his head in agreement. Who wouldn't sleep well, cuddling up to a literal angel? Pulls away a little more. 'Sorry.'

'Whatever for?'

'Using - using you as a pillow. Sorry.' 

Crowley swings himself into a sitting position, feels Aziraphale move a bit closer so their shoulders brush, and suddenly remembers yesterday with a clarity that seems to guarantee it wasn't a lingering dream. Aziraphale's wings cradled around him as he slept, Aziraphale's lips pushed against his. 

'You have my permission to use me as a pillow any time you like, Crowley. '

He fumbles his way through an approximation of a smile. Is that something you're allowed to do, sleeping on your love like that? 

He feels suddenly, horribly, out of his depth. 

They've held hands plenty of times over the centuries. It's rarely been for a pleasant reason. But the feel of Aziraphale's fingers around his is familiar, treasured, and it's a comfort. They'd held hands yesterday on the beach. 

'Dearest? Are you alright?'

He wants to say 'yes.' Wants to not lie to his angel. He's never done that, not ever. Settles on 'I don't know.'

'Is it...is it this?' and Aziraphale gestures at their joined hands. 'Yesterday, I thought you...'

He ends up hissing in an attempt to reply quicker than he can work his jaw muscles, assurances spilling faster than he can pronounce them. He's never been surer about anything than about loving Aziraphale and wanting to be loved back by him. 

Somehow, the angel must understand some of it, because he reaches out and pushes some of Crowley's hair back behind his ear and says 'a bit fast, eh?'  
'Bit fast. Yeah.'

'My darling. We don't have to be fast, you know. Not now.'

He wants to be. Wants to be able to do this like he'd dreamed of. Instead, he sags against Aziraphale and hopes that, even if it's just once more, he'll be able to understand what he's asking for without making him put it into words. 

White wings fold around them both, heart beat quick. They shut the world, and time, away. Should have known better than to doubt him. 

It's Aziraphale who suggests, much later, that they go for a walk; Crowley who suggests they go for a drive and then a walk, maybe another beach. He can't decide if the cottage feels claustrophobic or cosy, but there's only so long they can sit together before they need to have a conversation about this and he isn't sure he can face it just yet. 

The September heat has left in a hurry and the fog is chilly enough that he backtracks for a jumper. Aziraphale waits for him, and isn't that funny, in a really not funny way; after all these centuries, it's Crowley playing catch up. 

Only Aziraphale smiles at him as they get into the Bentley, and he's never, ever seen Aziraphale look at him like that before yesterday. Unguarded, unfettered. Adoring.

Safe?

Safe, he tells himself and starts the Bentley. Safe. 

He's trusted the angel with his life since he'd slithered up beside him on a wall in Eden. He's let Aziraphale heal him when he's been sick, and hold him after the Inquisition, and wear his body down to Hell. It's stupid to be so nervous. He yells at himself to relax. 

They drive down the coast road most of the afternoon, occasionally pulling over to look at the view or grab a cup of tea. Every time they stop, Aziraphale comes close enough that Crowley can take his hand and each time, it feels easier. Especially once Aziraphale starts moaning about his driving, and then they get lost because alright, maybe he was going a bit too fast and that's why they missed that turning, and there's something about the bickering that eases the knot in his stomach. 

'It doesn't have to change things, you know,' Aziraphale says and he nods, wondering just how transparent he must be. 

It's drizzling by the time Crowley pulls the Bentley up in a beach car park and says 'still fancy that walk then?'

Aziraphale casts a doubtful glance at the sky and snaps his fingers; Crowley finds himself wearing a waterproof jacket before he's had a chance to open the car door. 

'Hey! You can't just miracle me into clothes, angel.'

'Call it prevention against listening to you whinge all the way back.'

'I don't whinge,' he protests. The jacket is warm, he'll give Aziraphale that.

The wind is strong enough to take away the breath he doesn't need; it tugs at his hair and brings the sound of pebbles grinding across each other along with the chatter of the waves. Aziraphale's hand is in his again as soon as they're out the car, and the angel is smiling. 

'It looks good on you,' he tells Crowley. 

They walk down the steps together; Crowley glances at the harbour wall and the cracks in it and Aziraphale catches the look. 

'I'm sure the Bentley will be perfectly safe til we get back, love,' and he traces a hand across Crowley's face. 'Shall we walk down to the end and back?'

The beach is almost empty. A few die hard surfers are splashes of movement, mostly falling silhouettes against the waves, and there's a dog and a kid playing amongst the pools by the harbour wall - he thinks briefly of Adam, of Warlock, but it's some nameless kid with no weight of expectation to carry. 

The water knows better than to get into his shoes, although even demonic miracles and threats can't keep the shingle from moving underfoot. It's an excuse to lean into Aziraphale for a step or two, and he gets a smile in response and then the angel's arm wrapping around his waist. Pulling him close. 

They walk like that a moment or two, watching the fog roll in until the car park and the other people are hidden from view and it's just them, veiled in white. The surf is muffled; Crowley's heartbeat is not. 

He can hear the sharp nervousness of it, the blood singing around his corporation. 

'You can't get this wrong.'

Crowley blinks, wondering if he'd allowed a thought to slip out. He's pretty good at not speaking his mind; six thousand years of snapping your jaws together whenever you think you're about to spill all your deepest secrets does tend to do that. 

'Ngk?'

'You're not going to get this wrong. You...Crowley, we're only doing this if you want to and...I don't want you to be nervous about it.'

He barks out something that sounds almost like a laugh. 'I think you're asking the impossible there, angel. Might need to find someone else.' It feels like a sob. 

Feathers cloud across his back, his flank, and he's not sure if Aziraphale's shielding them from view or just trusting to the fog to protect them. Doesn't care; he can sense the defensiveness in the angel, the fierce desire to protect that he's seen countless times over the centuries but never felt aimed at him before. 

'There's never been anyone else, Crowley. Never could be. We can do this as slow as you need.'

Trying to finds words proves a step too far; he half turns and pushes himself against Aziraphale. Initiates it this time, wraps his arms around him and just thinks I love you, I love you.

Lips trace down over his sigil, across his forehead. There's a jumble of words amongst the kisses, whispered into his hair: 'Mine,' and 'my love' and 'Crowley' and 'always.' 

'You don't mind,' he manages to say in the end, and it doesn't quite come out as a question, which is fair because he isn't sure what he'd be asking. Do you mind me being a demon? Do you mind me being a fuck up? Taking it slow?

'Never.' Aziraphale kisses him. 'I love you.'

They kiss for a long while, listening to each other's breathing and the waves. Aziraphale's kisses are salt laden, rain wet. The tightness and the knots ease away again; he knows they're not gone, but they relax, let him smile and finally laugh and bring his fingers up to trail through Aziraphale's white curls, laying soaked flat against his skull.

'Did you actually think about water proofing this jacket, angel?' is the next thing he finally says, some unknown age later. 

'It's your fault, you've been wriggling around, letting the rain in the collar. Walk a bit more?'

They do; down to the tide line, Aziraphale picking his way through the kelp strands, Crowley glaring at it so it wouldn't make him slip. Seabirds swoop overhead, darting out to the rock out at sea. It feels almost like it does when he stops time. 

'I love you,' Aziraphale says again, softly, as though he can't get enough of the freedom to say it. Crowley squeezes his hand and looks at the waves, the softness and stillness of it all even without the sun, and accepts it. Thinks he might finally come to believe it.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've written in 6 weeks; things have been pretty hard recently and I haven't been in the right headspace to write. I'm sorry if you're waiting for updates on anything, they will appear soon I promise. 
> 
> All comments very welcome. (And the beach is Portreath in Cornwall if you want a look on wiki.)


End file.
